


O Lionheart

by usernicole



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Slow Burn, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7772389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usernicole/pseuds/usernicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro's off to college and the band is falling apart. Enter Keith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this business ain't for the faint of heart

**Author's Note:**

> hiya!! i'm new to the fandom hope this is cool
> 
> disclaimer: i don't know a damn thing my guy. i don't play guitar, or any instrument. i just love music a lot. if anything's unrealistic i'm very sorry!
> 
> this fic would not exist were it not for my beautiful beta !! ur the best my friend 
> 
> it also wouldn't exist if it weren't for the band PUP. PUP's music is the heart and soul of this fic, and i've pulled so many bits and pieces of it from them that it's almost ridiculous to list them all. please check them out!
> 
> the title of the fic comes from the PUP's song Lionheart

So here's what happens: _the Legends of Voltron_ is beaten--for the fourth time in the row--by the local punk band _Galra_ in the fourth annual Battle of the Bands. The four of them stand there, still sticky with sweat from their set, and watch Galra accept their giant check from some local news anchor. The lead singer's (Zack Something) purple hair dye had bled all down his face during their set, and Lance can see smudgy purple handprints on the pristine cardboard of the check. The grand prize is four thousand dollars and a week's studio time.

So there they stand, the four of them. Up on that stage Lance only sees patterns. Bright number fours winking in front of his eyes. They've just lost for the fourth time, four times since the stupid contest was created. The lead singer of Galra holds a check for four thousand dollars in his gross purple hands.

Lance looks over at Shiro standing next to him, clapping politely and managing to look as though he's actually _happy_ for the Galra dickheads. Pidge stands on the other side of Shiro, kicking at a patch of tape on the floor. Lance can feel Hunk beside him, like always. Hunk's still holding his sticks for some reason.

As of right now, these are the four members of the Legends of Voltron, so formed four years ago when Lance and Hunk had answered Shiro's craigslist ad looking for a drummer (because they are a package deal. If Hunk is drumming, Lance is there playing guitar, and vice versa).

Four years of Voltron, four years of practice, first in Shiro's parents' cramped garage and then in the shitty practice space they managed to rent once Shiro got them all jobs at the Taco Bell he managed. Four years of jam sessions and songwriting, words scrawled across notebooks and Lance's shoes and Shiro's arm and Pidge's jeans and Hunk's face when he fell asleep too early on the weekends.

Four years of local news anchors smiling huge and fake as they called out a band that wasn't theirs.

Lance watches the guys from Galra cheer and wave their check around like they just conquered the whole damn planet--rather than win a local shitshow held in the auditorium of some middle school--and he thinks, weakly, that that band doesn't need it. Galra has four EPs up on bandcamp, soon-to-be on itunes, and a rumor that some big-wig record company wants to sign them. They have a huge fanbase who are worried they’re going to sell the fuck out.

The Legends of Voltron have two EPs recorded. They recorded them in Lance's bedroom. with pillows and blankets tacked up on the walls. After they were recorded, Hunk painstakingly mastered the songs on his battered macbook. In the background of one of their songs you can still hear Lance's little sisters shouting from another room. The Legends of Voltron have only two hundred hits on the web page Pidge set up for them when they were thirteen. All of their fans are either kids from their high school or people directly related to them. Lance wants to sell the fuck out.

Hunk elbows him roughly, forcing him out of his thoughts, and Lance looks over to see one of the hotshot news anchors approaching them, smile wide and full of teeth. He glares up at Hunk, who just gives him a look that says _"Just don't say anything, for the love of God my mom is recording this on our DVR._ " Lance just raises an eyebrow and looks away. He can see Pidge inching behind Shiro, an irritated look on their face. Lance vaguely remembers them mentioning something about doing some summer reading after this.

"And here we have The Legends of Voltron! Congratulations on second place, boys. That second song you played was a real headbanger! What was it called again? " The anchor has this crazy accent and a handlebar mustache, and Lance wonders what the guy did to piss off whoever assigned him to this piece of shit human interest story. The anchor holds the microphone out to Pidge, who had almost escaped. Pidge sighs dramatically and rolls their eyes, stepping out from behind Shiro and into the proverbial spotlight.

The anchor gives them a smile he probably thinks is encouraging. Pidge glares up at him. The silence drags on for another long moment before the news anchor clears his throat and says, "Well it's a good thing this is all prerecorded then, isn't it?"   
  
Shiro chokes on a laugh, before going on to name the song, what EP it's on and when it was released. And isn't it so great that the internet has provided such an easy way to get their music out there? Pidge- that's our bassist, the quiet one, yeah- made this website for us where you can find both of our EPs. And yes, thank you, it was hard work putting out so much music, we recorded everything ourselves. And blah fucking blah frontman stuff. Lance feels hot under the stage lights and he wishes Shiro would wrap it up so they can go get some fucking pizza or something.   
  
"And what's in store for the future of The Legends of Voltron, then? Anymore music you plan to release? Shows?"   
  
"Well, uh, actually," Shiro starts, and his smile turns a little sheepish, "I'm headed off to college in another couple of weeks, so there might not be any new music for a while. We _are_ playing a show next week, at the-"   
  
And there it is, the last shit topping on top of the entire shit cake. Earlier that day, Lance had stopped by Shiro's to pick up him up and his basement bedroom had been all packed up. Voltron had been formed in that basement. It was where Lance had first gotten drunk, and then the first place he had ever been hungover. It was where Lance had realized, fourteen years old with an acoustic guitar in his lap, that playing music is what he was made to do, that this band was the most important thing in his life.   
  
He's tried all summer not to hold it against Shiro, for once in his life making a point of not being an asshole. In the back of his mind he knows they all knew Shiro was made for more.  Shiro who was obviously not looking for a couple of thirteen year olds when he posted looking for band members, but played with them anyway. Shiro who played guitar better than anyone Lance has ever seen, including himself, with only one arm, and sang just as well. Shiro who has spent hours listening to Lance vent about how shitty he feels all the time, how isolated he is, even surrounded by the band and his giant family. Shiro who got suspended for fighting some asshole who was talking shit about Hunk, who knows exactly what to do when Pidge starts feeling overwhelmed during the school year. Shiro who wants them to continue the band without him, even though he's the fucking heart and soul of it.   
  
Christ, Lance could use a beer. Thankfully, the interview seems to be wrapping up. He looks up at Hunk, who's got that look he's been getting recently. That _"the times they are a changin'"_ look, eyes vaguely glassy but mouth set stubbornly. Hunk will probably take the band splitting up the hardest, but damn if he'll show it. Lance will have to get him drunk after Shiro leaves so he can have a good cry on Lance's shoulder.   
  
He hears Shiro plug their show next week again, and the reporter asks them to pose for a picture. Then, thank fuck, they’re done. They head backstage to where they left their equipment, and Lance isn't surprised to see Galra are still there, along with a few of the other bands from the competition. They never miss an opportunity to gloat.   
  
Lance grits his teeth, he's really not in the fucking mood, but he manages to ignore their jeers for the most part. Instead of heeding Galra, he gathers up his shit and jumps to swing an arm over Hunk's shoulders, dragging him down to his own level.     
  
"So!" he says, too loudly. "How's this sound? You, me, and the others head over to Rolo's and finally order that thirty inch pizza they're always bragging about. We eat until we're half dead _—_ as per usual _—_ flirt with Rolo's son and get shot down _—_ _as_ per usual _—_ and we all take a few hours to bask in the smell of grease, defeat and, ugh," he wrinkles his nose. "Body odor. Jesus, Hunk, were you playing the drums or running a half marathon in 100 degree weather?"   


Hunk shrugs him off, laughing weakly. "I'm down, but I think Pidge was saying something earlier about having to do their summer reading? And Shiro has some packing to do still _—_ "  
  
"PIDGE," Lance hollers back to where Pidge is loading up their bass, "be a nerd some other time, we have celebrating to do."   
  
"Celebrating what? Being complete fucking failures?"   
  
Lance glares at them. "We're celebrating a great fucking show, alright? We kicked ass, and if the judges can't see it, fuck 'em. There's always next year." Lance twists back, stumbling backwards into Hunk.   
  
"Is there, though?" Pidge says, and Lance ignores them in favor of looking back at Galra. Shiro, because he's Shiro, has stopped to shake Zack-from-Galra's hand and congratulate them on winning. Zack looks like he's trying his best not to laugh in Shiro's face, and Lance feels his lip curl. He's about to say something, when he sees something much more interesting behind them.   
  
"Wait, what the fuck?" Lance says, because _right the fuck there_ is the drummer from Galra, fist-bumping _one of the fucking judges_. It's some guy from the mayor's office or some shit _—_ jesus _christ_ why did they even bother with this piece of shit contest? He's got a big, ugly diamond in one ear and he's unusually sweaty for some guy who just spent the last few hours sitting in a god damn chair.   
  
Before Hunk or Pidge can stop him, Lance is marching over, fists clenched. He sees Shiro's _"For the love of God, quit while you're ahead"_ face in his periphery, but it’s too late. He gets right up in the drummer and mayor guy's face and says: "So what's all this then?"   
  
There are still a few of the other bands milling around, and the room suddenly gets very, very quiet. "He was just congratulating us on a job well done," the drummer from Galra says, smirking. Lance has known the guy for four years and in those four years he's never felt the need to learn his name.   
  
"You can talk?" Lance says, stupidly (so stupidly). The drummer from Galra is about twice Lance's height and almost three times as wide. Lance starts to feel, talking to him for the first time, the same way one would talking to say, a brick wall, or a large rock. But no one would ever say Lance is the kind of guy who backs down just because of something ridiculous like size (even if that size is "roughly as big as a mountain is").   
  
The drummer's lip curls, and he steps closer to a Lance. "What's that supposed to mean?" Lance's head lines up roughly with the guy's sternum, and somewhere in the background Lance hears Pidge say "Jesus fucking Christ. _Every year._ "   
  
Lance, because it has been clear from the time of his birth that he lacks basic human instinct, reaches up and knocks on the drummer's forehead. He makes a clicking sound with his mouth as he does it. "It _means_ , buddy, that in the four years we've known each other I had no idea you had the brain capacity to form words, let alone use them! Your mama must be so proud. I'd have never thought it was possible, but you know, even monkeys can learn sign language and shit, so you never know. Good for you. _Now _—__ " Lance turns to the mayor judge, "I asked what all this was about."   
  
At this point, asking is entirely unnecessary. The mayor judge has an unmistakable smirk on his face. "Like the man said, I was just congratulating them on a well-deserved win."   
  
At "well-deserved," the dude shoots the drummer this conspiratorial look. The thing is, Lance wasn't kidding earlier. Voltron had played a kickass show. Their songs are fucking solid, their meager fanbase has grown substantially (yeah, sure, it’s still mostly made up of kids from their high school who are weirdly obsessed with Shiro, but there are still a lot of them). The four of them have spent _months_  practicing for this fucking competition, for that money and studio time. They got on stage and fucking killed it, and Galra were good, no doubt, but it was obvious from their first shitty cover that they were phoning it in.

Lance clenches his fists, feeling the calluses on his fingers and reopening the cut he'd gotten playing his ass off earlier during the show (Pidge had taken an artsy picture for their band's instagram, Lance's guitar picks lying on the ground, blood-spattered). He's maybe a split second from punching mayor judge in the fucking face. Luckily (or unluckily) the drummer has different plans.  
  
"Did you just call me a fucking monkey?" he says to Lance, stepping even closer, until the tip of Lance's nose is touching his gross meaty chest. Lance steps back, crossing his arms and glaring up at him.   
  
"No, see, you didn't get it," Lance says. "What I meant was, you aren't even as smart as a monkey."   
  
All hell breaks loose.   
  
***   
  
"Listen, Keith, it's just _one_ show! Please, just _—_ "   
  
Shiro goes on, voice tinny over the phone connection. Keith lets him go on, having learned over the years that when Shiro goes into Speech Mode, it's better to just ride it out until he's done. He's got his ratty laptop open to the Legends of Voltron official twitter page.   
  
" _—_ it's been years, _actual years_ , and you've not once come out to support us and it's really _—_ "   
  
The header picture is of the drummer (Hunk?) lying spread eagle on the sidewalk, dead to the world. Someone wrote _"The Legends of Voltron Fucking Rules!"_ in a semi-circle around his face. Keith supposes this is what the picture is meant to highlight.   
  
" _—_ you've never even met the band, and you're my _best friend_ , Keith. They think I made you up. And _furthermore _—__ "   
  
Keith skims his eyes idly over their twitter biography, the website, bandcamp, and instagram links. "Shiro, I have to work."   
  
"I _know_ you have to work, and I respect and admire that. And I know it's very important, but this is my _last_ show, Keith. And I want to see you before-"   
  
Keith decides to put him out of his misery, laughing lightly. "Okay, okay calm down. I'll be there. I'm already on your twitter page getting the address." He pulls the phone away from his ear at the sound of Shiro's cheer (and subsequent apologies to his mother for being so loud so late at night).   
  
"Great! I'll put you on the list _—_ " Keith wrinkles his nose at that. _The List_. "And don't forget your guitar _—_ "   
  
"Wait, why do I need my guitar?" Keith asks, alarmed. He can practically hear Shiro roll his eyes.   
  
"Calm down, I just want to jam after, maybe. It's been awhile since we've seen each other and, you know, who knows when we'll see each other again?"   
  
Keith sighs, pushing down the uncomfortable sensation that always attempts to erupt from his throat at the thought of Shiro leaving. It's not as though they see each other often, with Keith living on the other side of town, but Shiro leaving takes Keith’s friend count down to zero.   
  
"Alright, whatever, I'll be there. And I'll bring my guitar." Keith is heartened by the fact that Shiro sounds a lot happier after that, even through voicing his worries about the other band members to Keith over the phone. It's nice to feel wanted, Keith thinks. Eventually, Shiro sounds too tired to keep talking.   
  
Keith laughs, dropping back onto his bed. "Go to bed, old man. I'll talk to you tomorrow."   
  
"Don't call me old," Shiro says, and then, tentatively, "I'm really glad you're coming, Keith. I can't wait for you to meet the band."   
  
Keith flops back and smiles up at the ceiling, "Yeah, of course I'll be there, idiot. What kind of friend do you take me for?"   
  
"A good one. The best one."   
  
Keith rolls his eyes, Shiro is always saying shit like that, uncomfortably sincere. It's been years, but Keith still isn’t used to the raw emotion. They say their goodbyes and Keith drops his phone to the side, trying to calm the uneasy feeling he gets in his stomach whenever he thinks about Shiro leaving.   
  
After a moment he gets up and retrieves his laptop, lying back down and resting it on his stomach. It's still open to Shiro's band's twitter page. Shiro smiles out at him from the group selfie that serves as their profile picture.

Their pinned tweet is a link to a youtube video and as many "rock on" hand emojis as the character limit allows. Keith clicks the link.   
  
It's a local news report from a couple days ago, when they’d lost that contest. _Brawl Breaks Out at Battle of the Bands_ (Keith wrinkles his nose at the alliteration). A mustachioed reporter frantically tries to summarize as a group of about ten people fight in the background. The camera pans away to focus on them.   
  
Keith sees Shiro with his hands fisted in the shirt of a guy with purple hair, pulling him into a restraining headlock while the guy punches and elbows and kicks. Shiro alternates between jabbing a few well-aimed punches into the guy's stomach and yelling at the crowd of people next to him.   
  
Five feet away, the guy Keith recognizes as the drummer emits a loud battle cry, three guys hanging off of him and two more curled at his feet. After a moment a tiny person throws themselves into the throng, screaming obscenities that soon result in the cutting of sound in the video entirely. Keith watches them sink their teeth into the neck of one of the guys on the drummer. This must be Pidge.   
  
Keith watches, horrified and enthralled, and realizes the three of them are trying to reach the last one. A few feet away some skinny guy is getting his ass kicked by a dude whose size puts the drummer of Shiro's band to shame. The skinny guy is lying on the ground with the other one on top of him, getting relentlessly punched in the face. This has to be Lance, Keith thinks. The one Shiro's always worried about, and slightly in awe of.   
  
He's wearing a ratty t-shirt, the neck of it all stretched out where the giant dude has it clenched in one meaty fist. His skinny jeans have a hole torn in a place where it's not necessarily acceptable or fashionable to have a hole (namely, his crotch), and he's slamming his knees up into the back of the giant dude. Keith watches the sole of one dirty converse shoe flap as he kicks, then fall off completely.   
  
None of this is what Keith focuses on, though. What he focuses on is that Lance is _laughing_. Hysterically, mouth wide and bloody. The force of his laughter sprays blood in the face of the giant dude, even while Lance tries frantically to push the guy off of him.   
  
There's not much more of this before the reporter is having the cameraman focus back on him, though Keith can see Shiro and the drummer (it's Hunk it's gotta be Hunk) and tiny, fearsome Pidge break free from whomever they had been fighting and descend upon the guy fighting Lance. Hunk wraps an arm around the giant guy's neck, trying to pull him off, while Pidge goes straight for the kill, kicking at the giant's balls. Shiro grabs the back of the giant's shirt and can visually be seen planning where to aim every punch, hitting the side of the guy's head, kneeing him in the kidneys. And all the while Lance just laughs and laughs, chest heaving and face swelling. The video cuts off after a swarm of security guards can be seen arriving.   
  
Keith lets it sink in for a minute, slightly stunned. The caption of the video reads " _i can’t believe they recorded the whole thing!! the legends of voltron kicking galra’s ass!!_ "   
  
Keith closes the laptop and lets himself feel relieved that he only has to be around them for one night.   
  
***   
  
"So what are we gonna do?"   
  
It's 1:30 am, and Hunk has the stealth and agility of an elephant on rollerskates. It's a good thing Lance is still awake, because with his help the sound Hunk makes when he falls through Lance's window is only about as loud as a bunch of bowling balls falling down some stairs.   
  
Lance huffs and pulls himself out from where Hunk had fallen on top of him. His ribs still hurt a bit from when that Galra asshole had used him as a seat cushion. Luckily, the swelling in his face has gone down considerably. Soon he’ll probably be back to solid foods.   
  
"What do you mean, 'what are we gonna do'?" Lance sits up and waves his arms, hopefully accurately conveying his current state of pajama-clad extravagance. "It's two o'clock in the morning. Did partaking in a public brawl leave you a changed man? Are we punk rock now? Whatever you have planned, I'm in. Just know I'm not changing out of my jammies to do it."   
  
Hunk pulls himself up from the floor to lean back against the wall under Lance's window. "Shut up, shut _up_ oh my god," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you ever stop talking? Wait, don't answer that." He reaches his leg out to poke at Lance's. "I meant with the _band_ , dumbass."   
  
Lance feels his smile fade away, pulling himself out of Hunk's reach. "What about it?" he says, defensively, clutching his knees up to his chest. "The band's the band."   
  
"You know what I mean. Shiro's _leaving_ , dude. We have to face the facts, and with no Shiro, no Voltron. I can't go back to the fucking marching band, man. No way."   
  
"Who says no Shiro means no Voltron?" Lance says, but he can admit he doesn't sound very convincing. The look Hunk gives him just confirms this.   
  
"Dude. Without Shiro, we have no singer, no rhythm guitar, no fucking _lyrics_ , dude." Lance opens his mouth, but Hunk cuts him off. "I know, I _know,_ dude. We all help with the writing, but you have to admit, the themes of our songs, our whole vibe, that's all Shiro."   
  
Lance sighs and pushes his fingers up into his hair. It's true, it's all true. Shiro's songs are amazing. Shiro sings about adventure, and sacrifice and chivalry and rising up against the forces of evil. Shiro's songs are legendary, and Shiro is legendary, and without him the Legends of Voltron aren't legends at all.   
  
"We're just _Voltron_ ," Lance mutters into his hands, ignoring Hunk's "what?"   
  
"Well, what would you like me to do about it, Hunk?" Lance says once he's managed to pull his hands from his face. "Is there a, y'know, point to all this? Or did you just break into my house to talk about how fucked we are?"   
  
Or at least, how fucked Lance is. Hunk likes to bitch, but he's got a ton of friends in the marching band, and at least he'd have an excuse to play all the time. And Pidge is always whining about how much practice cuts into their study time during the school year. They're dead set on an acceptance to MIT, and though they would play down its importance if anyone were to mention it, playing bass in a shitty high school punk band doesn't exactly look great on an application.   
  
Lance is the middle child of a family with seven children. He's got three older siblings who like to nag him about _work experience_ and _skillsets,_ and three younger siblings who he's got to watch out for day after day while his parents work. And with four kids still at home his parents work _a lot_.   
  
Other than these things, Lance has this: the band.   
  
It's like every time he turns around all he can see is his world unraveling around him, like, he doesn't know, fucking yarn or something. He keeps thinking of more and more shit that they can't do without Shiro. Without him they can't afford to keep the practice space, they lose access to his mom's minivan to haul their stuff in, the two good amps they have are Shiro's, the only reason they ever actually get to fucking play shows is because Shiro schedules them.   
  
In the desolate wasteland that is Lance's insipid teenagerhood, being in a shitty punk band is his only salvation. He fucking knows he was made for this, for playing music, and when it's taken away all he can see in his future is an endless stream of closing shifts at Taco Bell, his parent's disappointment, and this aching feeling that if Shiro leaves then they _all_ will, and Lance will be alone forever while his friends go off to become extraordinary.   
  
Their boss at Taco Bell has already offered him Shiro's manager job, jesus _christ_ .   
  
While Lance has been drowning in his emo shit-spiral of teen angst, Hunk has been trying to get his attention.   
  
"Dude. _Dude_. Dude, what's wrong with you? Listen to me."   
  
"Jesus, _what_ , Hunk?"   
  
Hunk sits up straight, like he's going to say something important. "I think," he pauses for effect. "We should reboot Voltron."   
  
Lance scoffs, picking the nearest thing up off of his floor (a ball of dirty socks) and chucking it at Hunk. Hunk squawks and throws it back.

"Dude, listen, I'm fucking serious!"   
  
Voltron is this shitty cartoon from the eighties that they all went through this weird phase of being obsessed with when they were all thirteen, and also probably the source of a ton of legal shit if they are ever actually signed somewhere. "Rebooting Voltron" is a kind of stupid inside joke between the four of them, after they spent a sleepover at Shiro’s watching all of the show's terrible remakes. Rebooting Voltron has become synonymous with doing something that no one should ever do. Rebooting Voltron is a terrible idea.   
  
"So what, you want to reboot the band?"   
  
"Yes!" Hunk says. "We still keep playing music, but _different_ music. Music we can play without Shiro." He scoots over to sit next to Lance. "Don't look at me like that, I don't want to do it without him either, but I _can’t_ fucking go back to marching band, man. It fucking sucked."   
  
"So you want us to start all over."   
  
" _Well_ ," Hunk says, "I mean, I was thinking." He jerks his head to the side, towards Lance's desk.   
  
"No."   
  
"But _why not_?" Hunk wails, throwing his arms in the air. "You've been writing songs for _years_ and you made me swear to keep it a secret, but can we really afford to do that when we're about to have no songs at all?"   
  
"Those aren't Voltron songs."   
  
"EXACTLY!" They both pause, listening for any evidence that they've woken up Lance's parents or, god forbid, his baby sisters. After a moment, Hunk continues, much quieter. "That's exactly what I mean! Who cares if they aren't Voltron songs, we're rebooting Voltron!"   
  
Lance shifts, uncomfortable. "You don't even know that we're doing that. Shouldn't that be something we decide together? As a band?"   
  
"I already talked to Pidge. They're in."   
  
Lance gapes. "Dude, isn't Pidge the one always bitching about the effect practicing so much has on their beautiful grade point average or whatever?   
  
Hunk rolls his eyes. "Pidge says that, but it's complete bullshit. Pidge fucking loves us, and playing the bass. They aren't going anywhere."   
  
Lance groans and rubs his hands through his hair again. "And what about Shiro?"   
  
Hunk pauses, looking uncomfortable. "This is what he's been telling us to do all summer, right? He wants us to go on without him. You know it would kill him to know we weren't playing just because he decided to go fight evil or whatever."   
  
Lance sighs. "And what if Pidge doesn't like the songs?"   
  
"Then we rework them into something we all like. I'm sure they're not completely perfect, man. You wrote some of those when you were fifteen."   
  
Lance winces, and takes a moment to think about it. A long moment. Then, "Ugh, fine. We're rebooting Voltron."   
  
Hunk cheers, and then they both immediately go silent again, listening. After a moment, there's a quiet knock on Lance's door and his mom peeks in, arm wrapped around her stomach to keep her robe in place.   
  
"Hunk, _mijo_ , does your mom know that you're here?" she asks.   
  
"I texted her before I left, ma'am," Hunk says politely.   
  
"Oh good. There's some cookies downstairs if you would like some." She then levels a glare at Lance. "And you, did you even think to offer your friend something? A drink, anything?"   
  
"He literally just climbed in through the window, ma."   
  
"And that means you can't be polite?" she shakes her head disappointedly. "Goodnight, boys. Hunk, don't forget the cookies."   
  
"Thanks, Mrs. Espinosa!"   
  
"Good _night,_ ma." 


	2. doubts

Keith realizes two things after getting off at the bus stop closest to the venue where Shiro's band is playing. One of those things is that he had severely underestimated Shiro when he told him they had "a bit of a fanbase." There was a line almost down the block, people chattering at each other and getting X's drawn on their hands.  
  
He walks awkwardly down the line of them toward the entrance to the slightly shady venue. According to Shiro, he's just meant to go up to the bouncer and say his name and he should be let in. He hears the muttering of the people he passes. He has a guitar, is he with the band? Does he go to our school? Who does he think he is, going up to the front like that? Keith feels his face grow warm.

The other thing Keith realizes is that he’s liking this experience even less than he anticipated he would.  
  
Once he's inside, he stands awkwardly. He shoulders his guitar case further onto his back and turns, looking pleadingly at the bouncer. The bouncer rolls his eyes.   
  
"Down the hall and to the left," he says, and Keith thanks him before setting off.   
  
The venue isn't much more than a big room with a stage in it, but there's a hallway towards the back that Keith makes his way to, footsteps echoing throughout the room. He eyes the stage and wonders how it would feel to be the one up there, like Shiro. Probably fucking awkward.   
  
He can tell when he's close to where he's supposed to be, because he hears screaming. He pauses in front of the door and thinks about knocking, before figuring they wouldn’t hear it anyway and pushing in.   
  
The screaming is coming from the lead guitarist, Lance, who is trapped under the combined weight of Shiro and Hunk. They have him pinned to make it easier for Pidge to smear cake all over his face and in his hair. They're all laughing. Shiro looks up when Keith walks in and his smile gets impossibly brighter.   
  
"Keith!" he says, pushing up off of Lance and making his way over. "You made it!" He gestures to the dog pile behind him. "Lance's mom made us a cake. Guys, this is Keith."   
  
"Dulce de leche," Pidge says, smushing a chunk of it into Lance's nose before standing up and wiping their hands on their jeans. Keith, who has been doing his own laundry since he could remember, is silently horrified. "Hi, I'm Pidge," they say, holding out a hand. Keith hesitates for a moment before shaking it. They look satisfied after, like they were analyzing his handshake. Keith unintentionally stands up straighter.   
  
"Wait, _Keith_?" Lance says, still pinned. "Shiro's Canadian girlfriend?"   
  
"Oh _shit_ , that Keith?" Hunk says, looking down at Lance.   
  
"I'm not...Canadian?" Keith says, looking to Shiro for explanation. Shiro's looking at them, smiling.   
  
"I _told_ you he was real," Shiro says. "Why would I make him up? We've been friends since before I even met you guys."   
  
Hunk finally gets up (Lance heaves a deep, exaggerated breath) and makes his way forward, holding out a hand for Keith to shake. "We've heard so much about you, dude! It's so nice to meet you." His hand is big and warm like his smile, and Keith feels himself grin.   
  
"Same. Sorry I've never made it out to a show before. There were, uh, circumstances. I've heard all your music, though. It's good stuff."   
  
Hunk, if possible, smiles wider. "No shit? I suppose we should thank you too then. Shiro's told us you helped him on lyrics and stuff. You're like the secret member of Voltron!"   
  
Keith laughs awkwardly. "I wouldn't say that." The truth is, Shiro's wanted Keith to take a bigger role in the band since the band's creation, but it never sat well with Keith.   
  
Since he's known Shiro, Keith's moved five times. Twice to two different group homes and three times between different foster families. It's not that Keith's a bad kid, or ever was a bad kid. It's all just been shitty circumstances. Foster parents losing their jobs or having to move cities or having kids of their own. Keith doesn't hold any of it against them, but when he turned eighteen he made sure he had everything he needed to make it on his own and got the hell out of there.   
  
Over time Keith had learned that he was the only person he could count on to take care of him. He lives in a studio apartment that he pays for himself, and he's got a job (or three) that allow him to do that, he's got an upcoming semester at the local community college, and he's got Shiro.   
  
"Either way, we're real happy you came out for the show. I know Shiro appreciates it," Hunk says sincerely. Pidge, who Keith had temporarily forgotten (apparently lack of height goes a long way towards building stealth), appears again at his side, poking at his guitar case.   
  
"You play?" they ask, and Keith shrugs uncomfortably. Shiro claps him on the shoulder.   
  
"Keith's an amazing player. Better than me, probably," Shiro says proudly, and Keith feels himself blush.

"Really? This I gotta see." Keith watches as Hunk is shoved roughly out of the way and he's greeted for the first time by Lance. He's managed to wipe away most of the cake on his face, but it's still all in his hair. Before they had been interrupted, Pidge had apparently been forming a half-assed fauxhawk. "I'm Lance, and I've heard basically nothing about you." He holds out a hand, and Keith shakes it.  
  
"That's funny," Keith says pleasantly, "because I've heard so much about all of you." The effect of Lance smiling straight at him, without the buffer of a computer or Shiro's phone screen, is sort of blinding. Keith is reminded of sayings like "a deer in the headlights" or "a moth to a flame." Either way, Keith feels that the only possible outcome is death.   
  
"I'm not surprised. We're all pretty legendary." He waggles his eyebrows at the pun. He's still holding Keith's hand in his. "Hey, so is the haircut a serious thing or...?"   
  
Shiro groans. "Lance, _really_ -"   
  
"No! No," Lance continues, smirking. "I totally respect it, my man. Business in the front, party in the back. It's both a look and a lifestyle choice I can get behind, if you catch my drift."   
  
Keith is very confused, and feels like he should maybe be insulted. But Lance is smiling at him from under his eyelashes, and he's _still_ got a hold of Keith's hand, even though Keith can feel his palm become sweatier by the second. After a moment, he says, "Um, thanks?"   
  
"You're welcome!" Lance chirps, reaching the other hand up to grasp Keith's. "Don't sweat it. This isn't exactly a scene known for its fashion sense. Plus, Pidge has a mullet too."   
  
Pidge gasps, punching Lance in the arm swiftly. "Shut the fuck up, I do not!" They look up at Keith. "No offense."   
  
Keith isn't quite sure they're still speaking English. "None taken?" he says, but by then Pidge and Lance are ignoring him in favor of insulting each other mercilessly.   
  
Shiro sighs, draping an arm over Keith's shoulders. "Welcome to my life," he says, smiling and squeezing Keith lightly. "These are the people I choose to spend my time with."   
  
"Shut the fuck up, Shiro. You love us," Lance says, before going back to tugging on Pidge's hair and poking at their cheeks. After a moment, Hunk disappears to dish out slices of cake (from the intact side), despite Keith assurances that no, really, he's fine, he ate before he came.   
  
Thing's don't really change much in the next couple of hours before the show. Lance and Pidge bicker and pick at each other, usually resulting in physical violence between them (but nothing serious, Shiro assures Keith. They would never actually hurt each other). Hunk offers Keith food and bangs drumsticks restlessly at a practice pad on his lap. Occasionally he is roped into restraining Lance so Pidge can tickle or poke or smack him into submission.   
  
Shiro spends most of his time laughing at the other three and talking to Keith. Occasionally he tries to step in when they get too rowdy, but is usually just dragged into the fight. They all speak in breathless fragments, sometimes finishing each other's sentences but most of the time dissolving into laughter before they're able to fully explain the joke to Keith.   
  
They all go out of their way to include Keith. It makes Keith feel awkward. He almost wishes they wouldn't. It just emphasizes how much he doesn't belong.   
  
Keith's known Shiro for years now, going on a full decade of knowing him, and this is a Shiro he doesn't know. Shiro fits here the way Keith has never fit anywhere, like part of a well-oiled machine. Keith watches them, meeting hands and linking arms, and quietly comes to the realization that he's only ever known a fraction of his best friend, and it's only now that he's seeing Shiro's whole self.   
  
The knowledge sits low and gross in his stomach like a urinal puck. Keith is _jealous_ , and it's not a good look on him. Shiro is Keith's best friend, his only family, and Keith never thought he would be the type to act this way. But then again, it's always kind of fucked up to learn you're not your best friend's best friend.

Keith can feel himself sinking into one of his black moods and he can't do anything about it. He has a headache from the noise and the show isn't anywhere close to starting. He just wants to go home. He already has the day off and he could be spending it studying or sleeping but he's here and he's uncomfortable.   
  
He's stopped paying attention to others, so he's surprised when he feels the other side of the ratty couch he's sitting on dip. He looks up, expecting Shiro, but it's Lance grinning down at him. He reaches over and pokes at Keith's guitar case. "So you play, huh? Wanna whip that baby out and show me what you got? I show you mine and you show me yours?"   
  
He says it with this gross smile on his face, waggling his eyebrows. Keith frowns. Of all of them, Lance is the one he hasn't been able to figure out. Pidge is the young, smart one who takes no shit, Hunk is big and kind and obviously so happy to be here, and Shiro is Shiro.   
  
Lance is... He's every wild story Shiro has ever told him. He's unapologetically loud and he flirts with everything, including the dirty old coffee machine in the corner and the middle aged bouncer who comes in to make sure they aren't breaking anything. Nothing he says seems sincere, everything is a joke and it's never funny.   
  
Lance is the kind of guy Keith fucking hated in high school. He makes five dick jokes within the first hour. He breaks a chair. Everything Keith knows about the guy seems to lead towards the makeup of someone Keith can't imagine spending more than five minutes with, let alone several hours. Keith knows this, but there's also something else about him that Keith can't figure out. It's the thing that left him feeling so strangely when Lance shook his hand, that keeps drawing Keith's eyes to him.   
  
He's got a feeling that there's something there that he can't see. There has to be. Lance is obnoxious and _annoying_ . He pesters the other members of his band nonstop, but they all indulge him fondly. When he's excited (which, honestly, is most of the time) his energy seems to bleed out into the room. The air around him is metallic, like the air before a firework explodes. It leaves Keith stiff and on edge.   
  
Lance not-so-subtly tries to pull Keith's guitar away from its spot resting between Keith's legs. Keith narrows his eyes and pulls it closer to himself. "You guys go on in an hour," Keith says. "You really want to start playing already?"   
  
Lance gives him a look like he can't believe anyone would suggest something like _not_ wanting to play guitar. "Uh, yeah," Lance says. "'Course I do, dude. Get your guitar out." He points down at it and grins.   
  
Keith frowns, but he can feel Shiro staring at him from across the room, where he is letting Pidge style his hair (Keith remembers the day Shiro showed up at his house with a bright patch of white at the front of his hair. Keith had raised an eyebrow in question and Shiro had just shrugged and said "Pidge." Like that was all that needed to be said). So Keith sighs and unzips the case.   
  
Shiro hadn't specified, so Keith couldn't resist bringing his electric. Keith isn't the most materialistic person, he hates when people do shit like name their cars or call inanimate objects their children, but this guitar is his everything. Every time he sees it he almost can't believe it's his.   
  
A vintage cherry sunburst Fender American Deluxe Telecaster, with a maple neck. Keith runs one hand down the edge of it contentedly. It was a graduation present to himself, paid for with money saved for actual years, and he still had to live on instant ramen for a couple of weeks after buying it. It was a physical representation of all of Keith's hard work. All of the hardship he has to deal with, but at least he has this guitar. At least there's this.   
  
He picks it up and Lance is back, whistling at the sight of it. "That's pretty nice, bro," he says. He's got a bright blue Gibson Les Paul strapped to his chest. It's pretty sweet, and only slightly glittery. "But we all know it’s not about how it looks, it's how you use it that counts."

Keith feels a lick of horror shoot down his spine, and he shudders. "Yeah, whatever man. Let's just play."  
  
Lance shrugs, looking amused. "Come out to the stage. Our amps and shit are already out there." He leaves the room, and Keith looks back at Shiro. Shiro's wearing this pleading look, like he wants Keith to play nice but he knows how well that's going to go. Keith rolls his eyes and gives him a sarcastic wave as he exits.   
  
When Keith makes it to the stage, Lance is already tuning, sat cross-legged on the floor, so Keith gets to work setting up. After an uncomfortable minute of silence, Lance seems to realize that Keith obviously isn't going to be the one keeping the conversation going, so he says, "So."   
  
"So?"   
  
"So!" Lance leans forward awkwardly over his guitar to rest his elbows on his knees. "You and Shiro, eh? How'd you meet? What's the story there?"   
  
Keith feels, for a moment, strangely defensive, like Lance just asked him an extremely personal question. "Summer camp," he says shortly, not looking away from his guitar.   
  
There's another moment of silence. "What, that's it?" Lance says indignantly.   
  
Keith sighs, finally looking away from his strings. "What else is there to say?"   
  
"Um, _I don’t know_. How old you guys were? Where the camp was? What kind of arts and crafts you guys made? Shit, I don't know! I'm trying to make conversation here."   
  
"We were ten, it was at the local community center." Keith goes back to looking at his guitar. He strums a couple of times, noise ringing out through the empty room. "And we did macrame."   
  
There's another beat, and then Lance laughs. "Alright, I get it. You don't want to tell me your favorite color or whatever. You are a rock. A mystery wrapped up in an enigma. I got you." He reaches behind him to wrestle a pick from his back pocket. His jeans appear almost vacuum-sealed to his body, so it takes a minute. He brandishes it triumphantly at Keith.  "I can dig the whole lone wolf thing." He shoves the pick between his teeth. "Let's just play," he says, muffled, before standing up.   
  
Keith looks up at him for a moment. He's torn between feeling annoyed that Lance thinks he's got him all figured out, and annoyed that Lance didn't try harder to _actually_ figure him out. Keith isn't great at people. He spends most of his time alone, and he likes it that way. He's not a talker, like it's so obvious Lance is. This is how he is, how he's always been, and yet he still wants to prove Lance wrong.   
  
Lance reaches a hand down to help Keith up. Keith ignores it, standing up himself and pulling his own pick from his pocket. "I was ten, Shiro was eleven," he says. "He kept trying to get me to play all of the stupid games they had planned for us, and then he kept sitting next to me at lunch." Keith starts playing, the sound low and guttural. He's been patient long enough. He never has time to play anymore. He speaks louder, to be heard over the music. "He made me a friendship bracelet."   
  
He watches Lance go through several emotions within a short time. Annoyance at Keith's initial rudeness, then curiosity, then amusement. He pulls the pick out of his mouth and starts to play, matching Keith for every note.   
  
Keith isn't surprised that Lance is good. He's heard their music, and Shiro is constantly telling him how much Lance has improved over the years. What does surprise him is that he lets Keith take the lead. Keith changes the rhythm slightly, waiting for Lance to copy him, but Lance just maintains the beat. He looks up from his instrument to look at Keith, one eyebrow raised.   
  
They keep eye contact for a moment, and Keith feels something almost unfurl in his chest, like a sigh of relief. Keith looks away first, back down at his instrument. He takes that connection for the challenge that it is. ‘I'll show you mine if you show me yours,’ right? He can't control the smile that rolls across his face.   
  
He lets go.   
  
It's been too long since he's played like this. His music dances around Lance's beat, building and breaking. Distantly, he hears Lance let out a whoop.   

Lance is apparently a player who’s unable to keep still. He nods his head and twists and almost stumbles more than once. He follows Keith's lead and adjusts the rhythm when Keith goes off on a tangent, but for the most part he serves as almost a springboard for Keith. Lance's music is a steady pulse of energy under Keith's more temperamental riffs.   
  
Keith would never, ever say this out loud, but Shiro's music has always felt as though it wasn't enough for him. It is undoubtedly good. Their melodies are solid, almost sweet sounding at times, But it's not something that Keith enjoys playing.   
  
Maybe there's a cathartic element to it, but Keith has always been drawn more towards harsher sounds. When they were younger, one of his foster parents would joke that Keith was more interested than making noise than making music, and Keith can't deny there's some truth in that.   
  
He twists, taking a step towards his amp and rejoicing in the shrill sound it makes. He bumps his playing up a couple octaves and closes his eyes.   
  
Alone in his shitty basement apartment, Keith's music is just harsh and echoing. He loves playing, but it's empty sounding. Now his music sounds full, bursting at the edges of the room.   
  
Before, Keith had thought that being up on stage like this, playing with other people, would be awkward. It still probably should be, since Keith's never been the greatest at being the center of attention. However, he finds this performance pretty exhilarating. Being on stage might not be so bad if he were sharing it with people like Lance.

He hears a loud thump and a squeal of feedback, and turns to see Lance has tangled an ankle in a series of cords. Lance recovers from stumbling though, and renews his playing, this time with a slight blush and a sheepish smile aimed at Keith. Keith laughs once, loudly, and Lance's smile widens. Their playing trails off, the sound of their final notes bouncing against the walls.   
  
Lance's face is still a bit red, but Keith doesn't know if it's from almost falling or from exertion. Lance is slightly sweaty, but his eyes are bright. He's still looking at Keith, and Keith feels his face heat at the attention. As the music dwindles down to nothing, Keith feels the discomfort from before make a comeback. He looks down at his guitar.   
  
After a moment, Keith hears Lance clear his throat like he's about to say something, but he's interrupted by the sound of applause.   
  
Keith looks down to see the rest of the band standing at the front of the stage. Both Hunk and Shiro look elated. Pidge looks pleased as well, though their clapping is more of the sarcastic nature.   
  
"That was awesome!" Hunk says sincerely, still clapping. "You guys play really well together. You gotta let me drum next time."   
  
"What'd I tell you?" Shiro says, and he's giving Keith this look, like he's proud. Keith feels out of sorts, now that they've been caught out. His hands feel useless against his guitar, like he's forgotten how to play.   
  
Keith looks over at Lance and is sort of relieved to see that he looks a bit embarrassed too. It's a weird look on someone who, as far as Keith can tell, rarely is embarrassed by anything. "Yeah right," Lance says. "As if you could keep up with us."   
  
Hunk laughs loudly, moving to pull himself up on stage. "Yeah, okay, I just won't mention how many times you went off tempo. You were supposed to be playing rhythm, man."   
  
Lance sputters, and his eyes dart towards Keith. "Whatever, dude. I'm not used to playing rhythm!"   
  
"Just leave it to the professionals, Espinosa," Pidge says, letting Hunk haul them up. Shiro, who had disappeared backstage, emerges from side stage with his own black guitar in one hand and a lime green bass in the other. "And don't think we missed your little stumble. If you do that during the show tonight you will never live it down."   
  
Lance rolls his eyes, but he's still blushing. He looks over at Keith again, his hands roaming absentmindedly over his guitar, and Keith is starting to realize that Lance is _nervous._ Could he be nervous because of _Keith?_

Keith feels himself start to grin, so he looks down at his guitar again. He suddenly wishes that he knew them all longer than one day, that he could join in on their teasing, if only to see Lance get that flustered look on his face again.  
  
When he looks back up, Shiro's there, and he's got this look like he knows something Keith doesn't. Keith glowers at him.   
  
Shiro laughs. "What? I need you to move so I can set up. They're going to start letting people in soon, and we aren't good enough to have crew to do that sort of thing."   
  
Keith snorts. "Whatever, man. I saw the line of people outside." He moves, though, and stands to the side while Shiro hooks up his guitar and adjusts everything to his liking.   
  
"They're great, right?" Shiro says, grinning. "They're mostly kids from our school. We put up online that it will be our last show, so there are a lot more people than anticipated. It's like a going away party or something."   
  
Keith shrugs. "Will your parents be here?" he asks, a little nervously. Shiro's mom is always trying to feed him. The combined power of both her and Hunk might be the end of him.   
  
Shiro shrugs back. "Naw, you know they never really, you know, got the whole band thing."   
  
Keith knows. Shiro's parents are amazingly loving, but ridiculously strict. They're fine indulging him and his friends, letting them borrow the van and stay out late to play house shows and such. But in the end they have always made it clear that it was not meant to be serious. Shiro has always known he would have to abandon it to pursue a successful career.   
  
Keith wonders if anyone else knows how much Shiro has struggled with it, with having his parents' support, but not truly. Shiro tells anyone who asks how excited he is to be going to college, to start down the path towards becoming a lawyer, but he's admitted more than once to Keith that he's not sure that's what he actually wants.   
  
"It just seems so lonely," he said once to Keith, so low over the finicky phone connection that Keith had almost not heard him. "The idea of going out there, on my own. I don't want to be alone. But if I'm being honest, the only time I'm ever not lonely is when I'm with you, or with the band."   
  
Keith knows, without a doubt, that staying here and being with the band is what would make him the most happy, but he also knows it's unrealistic, and Shiro will get over it. He's going to a great school, and he has never had trouble making friends. Keith knows better than most that the world _—_ the real, adult world _—_ is not forgiving. Shiro's on his way to living a long, comfortable life. Something Keith is not so sure Shiro would have if he were to try and make it with this band.   
  
"Lance's mom will be here, though!" Shiro says brightly, strumming idly at his guitar. It's pitch black, and ridiculously nice. Before Keith got his guitar, it was the object of his painfully hidden envy. "Lance’s mom is really great. She's always been so supportive. And Pidge's brother will be here too! We actually met Pidge through Matt, so I'll always be grateful for that. Matt usually sells our merch for us." He pauses, laughing. "I mean, what little merch we have. It's mostly just our EPs burned on CDs and the occasional t-shirt we get printed when we can afford it."   
  
He rambles on about the rest of their families and all the things they've done for the band over the years. There's a tinge of sadness in his voice, an echo of longing. Keith, for the first time, truly realizes how much this night means to Shiro, and he's glad he made it out to see him say goodbye to something he obviously loves so much.   
  
"Getting nostalgic over here, eh Kurogane?" comes a voice from behind Shiro, and Lance clasps a hand on Shiro's shoulder. "Did you tell him about the time you ate too many of my grandma's _tamales_ before a show and had to run off in the middle of a song to throw up?"

"No, because then I would have to tell him the story of when we played that kid's thirteenth birthday party and you fell off the stage and onto the birthday cake," Shiro says, grinning wide and sincere for the first time since he started talking.   
  
Pidge hears them from where they're standing on the other side of the stage, and doesn't hesitate to come up and supply their own embarrassing Lance stories, Hunk shouting details from the background. They don't go out of their way to include Keith in this conversation, too wrapped up in memories, but Keith doesn't mind. Shiro needs this.   
  
Pretty soon after, they're ushered off the stage by an irritated security guard, and they go wait backstage while people trickle in. Keith meets Matt _—_ who is kind and talkative and the spitting image of Pidge _—_ and Lance's mom, who calls him a "sweet boy" when he offers her his seat.   
  
She insists that the band take about five thousand pictures, once they've all changed into their show clothes (which for all of them means a new t-shirt and impossibly tighter jeans), and then insists that _Keith_ get up to take pictures with them. Keith feels pretty awkward taking pictures with the band, but he feels slightly less embarrassed when Lance’s mom insists that Matt get in the picture as well.   
  
In all of the chaos, it only seems like a few minutes before someone from the club comes to tell the band they're due on stage, and the whole lot of them trudge out in a procession. The sounds of the crowd get louder the closer they get, and Keith feels nervous, like he's going out on stage instead of Shiro.   
  
Before they go out, the lights go down in the club, and there's a muffled cheer. Keith steps back and watches as the band all fist bump one another, huddled together like they're plotting something. Shiro's grin is huge and bright in the darkness, and it only gets wider when Hunk chokes out something that sounds like a sob and pulls them all into a group hug.   
  
Keith almost looks away from the sentimental scene, but Lance catches his eye. He's grinning, resting his cheek against the top of Hunk's head, and when Keith raises a questioning eyebrow he just smiles wider.   
  
Keith looks away. The connection leaves him feeling off, wrong-footed and flustered, and when he looks up they're on stage.   
  
It's a Shiro like Keith's never seen before, dynamic and shining and loud. Everything is so loud, even at the side of the stage. The four of them are solid, in sync. Pidge and Hunk are steady and lovely together, like a heartbeat. Shiro's voice is everywhere, winding through and over the music, tying it all together. Lance is energy incarnate.   
  
He flirts with everyone, on stage and in the crowd. He twirls around Pidge, pulling their hair and trying to trip them. He goes and stands on top of Hunk's kit. He stands, back to back with Shiro as they hold each other up. There are a few times where he has to dart quickly to his mic from the other side of the stage in order to do his backup vocals, but as soon as he's done he's off again, twisting and jumping. He's wild. He's magnetic. Watching him, Keith's hands itch for his guitar. Lance is contagious.   
  
Keith thinks that Shiro can never know that Keith spent the only Voltron show he bothered to come out for watching Shiro’s lead guitarist.   
  
Before he knows it, the house lights go up and the show is over. The Legends of Voltron take a bow to raucous cheers. There's another hug, and more than a few furtive swipes at teary eyes. Keith's ears are ringing, and his feet hurt from standing, but he finds himself cheering with the rest of them, the palms of his hands stinging with the force of his clapping.   
  
He'd always dismissed Shiro's band in his head. Somewhere deep inside he realises it was probably petty jealousy that kept him from coming to shows and listening to the music Shiro sent him, because he sees Shiro and his band, and he knows they have something. It might be youth, or energy, or talent, Keith doesn't know. All he knows is that he could have been a part of it, but he wasn't, and now it's over. 

Next to him, Lance's mom sniffles quietly, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. She had recorded almost the entire show on her phone, and the ringing in Keith's ear is most likely due almost entirely to her cheers.   
  
"That was wonderful, wasn't it?" she tells Keith, tone reverent like she had just spent a night at the opera, rather than a concert put on by a group of high school kids.   
  
"Uh, yeah," Keith says, wincing. He's never really gotten the hang of talking to moms. He's generally alright at talking to people, but moms are creatures who tend to elude him. "Lance was great," he blurts out, almost too loud, and he feels his face heat up. "And, uh. The others too. They were amazing."   
  
A smile grows slowly across her face as he talks, and she squeezes his upper arm before letting go to pat his cheek. "You're a good boy," she says. And then, out of the blue, "And you are all worrying too much. Those kids act like Shiro is going to the moon, and I can see you are too." She reaches and grabs one of Keith's hands, holding it in both of hers. "Everything will be fine," she says. "This," she gestures to where the band are still hamming it up for their adoring crowd, "is not the end. I know it."   
  
Keith looks down at their conjoined hands. "Uh," he says eloquently, "thanks."   
  
"It's nothing," she says dismissively, before letting go of his hands to reach into her massive purse, pulling out her phone. "I'm going to see if I can get a picture of them on stage," she says, before marching out to the roars of the crowd. Keith hears Lance's scandalized _"Ma!"_ even over the ruckus.   
  
Keith isn't necessarily someone who enjoys physical contact. He stiffens at the slightest touch, and he's known to snap at people who invade his personal space. Keith is a cactus and he is fine with that. But even so, he's surprised at the jolt of sadness he felt when Lance's mom let go of his hand.   
  
_This,_ Keith thinks, _is making out to be a strange night for me._   
  
He's shaken from his trance by Shiro appearing before him, sweaty and golden. His smile is a little shaky, but it holds. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. "So? How were we?"   
  
Keith smiles and follows as Shiro makes his way back to the room they had been in before the show. "You were great, man," he says sincerely. "Honestly. Kick ass. I'm sorry I never made it out to a show before."   
  
It's the wrong thing to say, and Keith knows it when he sees Shiro's smile dim. "Nah, it's fine. I know this isn't really your scene." He shrugs. "Just know you're on the list for every show from now on. Though, I can't tell you when that will be."   
  
Keith watches as the corners of Shiro's mouth sink further down until his lips are pressed into a line, and tries to think frantically for something to say that will cheer him up. "Aw, I'm sure it won't be _that_ long," he says, doing his best to sound cheerful, but mostly just sounding loud. "It's not like you're going to stop writing just because you're off at a fancy college, right? You'll come home at winter break with a whole album for you guys to record."   
  
Shiro is full-on frowning now, running a hand through his hair. "Hey Keith, listen," he says, looking towards the door nervously. "I mean, the others don't like me talking about it too much, but I told them I want them to keep the band going while I'm gone. Without me."   
  
Keith is so shocked he actually takes a step back. Before today, he would have passed this information off as the obvious way to proceed. The Legends of Voltron was formed by a few high school kids looking for something to do. It's a hobby, an excuse to hang out and pretend to be rock stars for a while. Before today, Keith would have just shrugged and offered himself for any future jam sessions. But now Keith has seen them, how electric they are together. Keith's never had a family, but he's pretty sure he knows one when he sees it.   
  
"They wouldn't do that," Keith says confidently. He hasn't known them long, but Hunk and Pidge and Lance all look at Shiro with this combination of adoration and intense hope on their faces, like plants growing up towards the sun. Keith knows that look, he recognizes it from the one on his own face back when he had first met Shiro.   
  
"I want them to!" Shiro says adamantly. "Or, I mean, I don't want them to stop playing because of me, but the idea of them moving on without me..." He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.   
  
Keith steps forward and throws an arm around Shiro's shoulder. "Look, they obviously love you. You're the _singer_ , what are they going to -"   
  
"They're already talking about it," Shiro cuts him off, tugging at his blonde fringe. "I heard Hunk and Pidge arguing over who would take over singing when I leave, and I, I mean." He stands up straighter, putting on a brave little soldier type of face. "I'm happy for them, this is what I have been telling them to do since I got accepted. They're all so talented, and they love to play. I want them to do this, it's just..."   
  
"It just sucks, right?" Keith says, reaching over and lightly punching him in the arm. "You can say it sucks. I'm pretty sure anyone would think that way if their friends abandoned them." Keith feels his jaw tightening just thinking about it, Shiro all alone in a new city while his best friends rub in his face the fact that they can still do the thing he loves most.   
  
Shiro shakes his head, frowning. "No, they're not abandoning _me_ . I'm the one leaving. It's not fair for them to have to put the band on hold just because I'm not around." He levels a glare at Keith. "It's not on them, Keith. I asked them to do this. Don't look like that."   
  
Keith pastes an innocent look on his face. "What? I wasn't thinking anything."   
  
Shiro's frown deepens. "I'm serious, Keith. Don't-"   
  
He's interrupted by the door opening and the rest of his band tumbling in, both Lance and Pidge attempting to piggyback on Hunk.   
  
"Shiro! Keith!" Lance says loudly as Hunk ceremoniously drops him. "I just ran into Rolo in the crowd and he says if we move fast he can probably swing us some free garlic knots at his dad's place. You up for it?" He grins widely at the both of them, though his smile dims as he meets Keith's glare. "Or not," he says, brow furrowing. "Is everything-?"   
  
"I vote not," Shiro says quickly, moving forward to help Lance up off the ground. "We always go to Rolo's, dude, and you have yet to get a date with Rolo Jr. or Nyma. I think it's about time you gave up, buddy. They're just not interested."   
  
"You say that, but who just potentially got us all some free knots?" Lance says, raising an eyebrow. "I think he's warming up to me."   
  
"Maybe he would warm up to you if you stopped flirting with Nyma at the same time as him," Pidge deadpans. "And I agree with Shiro. We always get fucking pizza. I'm about to turn into a pizza. I vote Thai food."   
  
From there they all dissolve into a chorus of insults and different food suggestions, getting progressively louder with each second, and Keith feels himself growing more and more irritated until he's clenching his fist and grinding his teeth. Shiro seems to notice, because he looks back guiltily at Keith. "What about you, Keith? Do you have any suggestions?"   
  
The rest of them all look at him with guilty expressions on their faces, like they had forgotten he's there. And Keith thinks, " _It seems like they're starting to forget a lot of important things,_ " and decides that now is the time to leave.   
  
"I think I'm just going to head home now, if that's alright," he says tersely, grabbing his guitar from where it rests against the wall. "I've got work in the morning, you know how it is."   
  
Hunk and Pidge make some protesting noises, but Shiro seems to realize that Keith is just about at the end of his rope, so he just nods. "Alright, man," he says, moving back to give Keith a brief hug. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"   
  
Keith nods and says his goodbyes, waving at Matt and Lance's mom where they stand chatting just outside the room. 

  
He thinks he's probably being rude, or weird, or something, but he doesn't much care. The entire day had been overwhelming, from start to finish, and he wants nothing more than to go home to his tiny basement apartment and lay on his bed.   
  
He's almost made it to the bus stop when he hears someone call his name, and when he turns Lance is running up, hard guitar case bouncing against his back. When he reaches Keith he flops over, hands on his knees, and it takes him a few moments to catch his breath.   
  
"You're a fast fucker, you know that?" he says, smiling up at Keith after he's got most of his breathing under control. Keith just stares at him blankly, waiting for him to get to the point. Lance sobers slightly and stands up straight, and Keith is annoyed to realize for the first time that Lance is a little bit taller than him.   
  
"Anyway, uh, I'll let you get going soon. I, uh, I just wanted to ask." He looks away, rubbing his hands through his hair before turning back to Keith. "If maybe you wanted to play together sometime?" His voice cracks at the last word, and he coughs, cheeks turning red. "I mean! Shiro's leaving soon, and I thought you could use someone to jam with. Not that you don't have any other friends! I'm sure you do, you must be, uh, Mr. Popular at your school. You've got that bad boy vibe, you know? Uh, I guess. _Anyways!_ " He shouts this, and then seems to shrink in on himself. Keith continues to give him his best _"You Are Wasting My Time"_ look, and he can tell Lance is starting to feel its effects.   
  
"Yeah, so, I just um, thought I would offer." He looks away again, fidgeting awkwardly with his hair. His voice has taken on this low, embarrassed tone, and Keith almost feels bad. But then he thinks about Shiro, and how torn up he's been over leaving. This is meant to be the most exciting time in Shiro's life, but all he's done for the last few months is worry about this stupid band.   
  
Keith tries to imagine how the conversation would go were he to tell Shiro he had taken up playing with Lance. Shiro would put on a happy face, Keith's sure, but it would feel like just another betrayal by the people Shiro supposedly calls friends.   
  
Keith schools his face into the fiercest glare he can manage, and does his best to inject as much cold sarcasm in his voice when he says "Yeah, sure. Couldn't imagine anything I'd rather do."   
  
Lance finally looks back at him, brow furrowed in confusion and what Keith is hesitant to call hurt. After a moment, he says, "Dude, I was just trying to be nice."   
  
Keith rolls his eyes. "Next time, don't bother," he says, before turning around and heading back towards the bus stop. He can see the bus heading down the street and he will be damned if this asshole makes him wait for another one.   
  
He hears the shuffling of feet, and a muttered _"Dick"_ before the telltale sound of footsteps, leading as far away from Keith as possible. Keith pushes his guitar case further up on his shoulder as the bus slows to a stop in front of him. He doesn't regret what he's done, because he's done it for Shiro, but he can't help the acidic feeling that bubbles in his stomach at the image of Lance's hurt face.   
  
As he makes his way down the aisle trying to find a seat, he pushes any sympathetic thoughts out of his mind. It's not like he's likely to see Lance anytime soon, if ever. And he knows damn well he won't be playing guitar with him again. Not in a hundred years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doubts is the title of another PUP track
> 
> i'm posting this at work how punk rock is that??? (the answer is not punk rock at all i'm here really early)
> 
> i liked writing this chapter bc it got me used to writing keith and bc i think shiro is so overlooked in klance fics!! he's always separated from the other paladins bc everyones like "omg daddy" but like. dude's just the head. he needs the others just as much as they need him. i hope i conveyed that? also i'm tired of everyone mullet-shaming keith but not pidge. pidge totally also has a mullet
> 
> thanks to my betaaaa sorry for nagging :D
> 
> EDIT: idk if anyones gonna read this anytime soon but we're back bb. i did some lil edits and fixed up some errors and im gonna try to keep it up!! thanks

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title comes from PUP's song [Familiar Patterns.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7J9C5quEriE) come talk to me on [tumblr](https://www.wizzardblizzard.tumblr.com) if you'd like!


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